


Surrogate

by darkandstormyslash



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Billy Kimber is not a nice man, Extremely Dubious Consent, I may be slight addicted to bending Tommy over surfaces, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Prostitution, Sex for Favors, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 20:05:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15154637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkandstormyslash/pseuds/darkandstormyslash
Summary: Billy Kimber was promised a fuck with a barmaid. Said barmaid has just stormed out of the room. Now Billy wants a fuck, Tommy wants a deal, and Grace doesn't really want to be listening in.Three POV fic, set in S1E3 with an obvious departure from canon (sadly, this did not happen in the actual show).





	1. Grace Burgess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pure_bastard_extract](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pure_bastard_extract/gifts).



> This is a three POV fic, so each chapter covers the events from the perspective of a different character involved. Billy's chapter is the one with the blatant sexism, homophobia, and various unpleasant slurs. Tommy's chapter is the one which dives into the more dubious side of dubcon. Fic is for pure-bastard-extract who has been spoiling me with awesome art and encouraging my various fic ideas on tumblr. Enjoy!

Billy Kimber is drunk, and a drunk Billy Kimber is a handsy Billy Kimber. Grace finds it bad enough at the races, pressed against him in the crush of other people, but when the whole entourage troops back to the Kimber residence together it gets exponentially worse. She was grateful at first that Tommy insisted on coming back with them, she’s getting progressively less grateful as the evening and the whisky drag on and Tommy doesn’t seem remotely interested in stopping Kimber’s hands from travelling where they want.

It’s just the three of them in the room now; her, Kimber and Tommy, with Kimber doing most of the talking. His hand starts on Grace’s knee, patting gently as he brags about some deal won on some lousy horse, but soon it’s sliding up under her skirt. She shoots a furious look at Tommy who gives her a bland expressionless glance back. She’s starting to get the feeling that he hasn’t come here to stop her being taken advantage of, but to make sure that she goes through with it.

Kimber’s fingers suddenly twist up, two together heading straight for her pantyhose, and Grace gives a gasp, leaping to her feet, eyes wide and horrified. She’s brought a gun in her little bag, but she can’t think of the most appropriate time to use it. She can feel hot sparking anger rush through her, and it takes all the strength she has to keep her eyes wide and scared, her body trembling delicately to prevent her from bodily smacking Billy Kimber in the face with the gun-filled bag.

“Sit down!” Kimber barks, and “Sit down.” Tommy murmurs straight afterwards. Grace knows she should, knows she has to, but she also knows if she sits down now the evening will only get worse. Kimber feels slighted and it makes her stomach churn to think of the things she’ll have to do to reassure his ego.

“Sit. It’ll be alright.” Tommy says, patting the back of the chair gently, like he’s trying to guide a frightened horse. Suddenly it’s Tommy she wants to hit in the face with a gun.

Kimber scowls, looking between them like he can’t work out what’s going on. His voice comes out in an accusatory sulk, “You promised me a fuck, Tommy Shelby.”

In a way Grace almost feels relieved to hear it. Now it’s out, now it’s confirmed, she’s under no pressure to go through with it. Grace knocks over the chair as she storms out of the room, ignoring the gently protesting noises from Tommy and the angry ones from Kimber. She slams the door behind her and rests her head against it, still shaking with rage and fear.

The house looks big and grand, but not every aspect of it is as old and imperious as it pretends to be. Kimber’s voice travels easily through the cheap wooden paneling that makes up the door. “You promised me a tumble with the pretty barmaid, now you’re going back on the deal? Is this the sort of business you do, Mister Shelby?”

Tommy’s voice is low and soothing and Grace doesn’t want to hear it. She steps away from the door and hovers in the corridor. She very much wants to run all the way out of the house, down the stairs, and away in Tommy’s car all the way back to Dublin. But she can’t. She has a job to do, and the more she can find out about this meeting the better. It’s not safe, standing here outside where anyone could catch her, but it’s a lot safer than being trapped inside with Kimber.

There’s a crash from behind the door. Something, maybe a glass or a decanter, has clearly been dashed to the floor. Grace takes a deep breath and presses her ear to the door. She hears a thump, a small grunt of pain, then Kimber’s voice again, “Well don’t you make a pretty picture, eh Tommy? Just like your mother, nothing but a gypsy whore.”

Grace clenches her back teeth and tries not to feel sorry for Tommy Shelby. A moment ago he would have been happy to sell her virtue off to Kimber for a racetrack, she shouldn’t care at all if he’s taking a few hits now. Although strangely Kimber doesn’t sound angry anymore. If anything he sounds gloating and triumphant.

She hears Tommy snap, “You wanted a fuck didn’t you? Fucking take it then.”

Quickly Grace backs away from the wooden paneling and scoots down the hall, certain that Tommy is giving Kimber permission to barrel through the door after her. A few moments tick by and the door stays resolutely closed, enough for her to cautiously venture back. It seems to have gone quiet, she can’t hear anything at all except a few grunts and groans and a short cut-off cry from Tommy.

Grace frowns, pressing herself closer to the door and feeling safe enough to bend down to the keyhole. It takes a moment for her eye and brain to adjust to the view she’s seeing, half obscured and at a narrow range. She can see half of the back of Billy Kimber up against the pool table, his hips thrusting forward. She can’t see Tommy at all, but she hears him groan and her blood runs cold as she finally realises what’s going on.

Kimber isn’t finishing the evening with her, instead he’s finishing it with Tommy.

Grace feels numb, unable to tear her gaze away from the half-view she has through the keyhole. Kimber’s hands are clenched up tight against whatever they’re grabbing, his head tilted back. She’s only glad she can’t see his expression. The snap of his hips is accompanied by gasps and moans, and the occasional slipped insult which makes the knot inside Grace’s stomach twist around tighter. There’s no doubt Kimber is enjoying this; not just the animalistic physical joy of a rut but also the thrill of having someone as powerful as one of the Shelby-clan trapped underneath him.

Grace has no idea how long it goes on for, it could be an hour she spends crouched by the keyhole, hands twisting tight around the front of her dress. It’s certainly long enough for her legs to stiffen, so that when Kimber finally steps back she all but tumbles over trying to quickly stand up. She knows this is when she should be listening, to hear what Tommy says or what deal he makes, but she can’t bring herself to hear his voice. She doesn’t want to hear him sound broken or used, or even worse to hear him sound smug and satisfied by what’s just happened. For all she knows, this is what Tommy Shelby gets off on, and all he sees in her is some silly barmaid with a fancy that he can use.

She scuttles to the car instead, sitting down in the passenger seat and trying to steady the tumultuous thoughts racing around her head. The sound of Tommy Shelby being fucked is ringing in her ears, her face burning. Tommy doesn’t know she listened in, which means she’ll have to face him and pretend she knows nothing about it, to talk to him as if she hasn’t seen him whoring himself out over Billy Kimber’s pool table. But far worse than anything that’s happened to her tonight is the knowledge deep and certain within her that she has to tell Campbell.

She’ll have to sit across from him in a teashop, or walking at the art gallery, and explain in words she never uses that Tommy Shelby was fucked by Billy Kimber. She can almost see the expression she knows will be on his face; confusion followed by shock, then disgust, and finally triumph. Oh yes, Campbell will be _pleased_ to hear it, as pleased as Kimber was to do it. Both of them will see it as nothing more than a humiliation justly deserved for a man they wish to destroy.

Grace can’t see it that way. When the door opens and Tommy gently slides into the seat next to her she’s trembling again, unable to look at him.

“Just drive.” She whispers.

Tommy pulls the car out without a word.


	2. Billy Kimber

The thing is if a man makes a deal I expect him to stick with it, alright? I’m not asking the world, not asking for anything _unreasonable_ just to make a deal and see it through. Shelby promises me a pretty barmaid to dance with then that’s what I expect him to deliver, not some stuck-up judgemental tart who starts getting choosy after she’s had the best part of a decanter of my finest Irish whisky. I’m not having a fool made of me in my own house.

Anyway, we have a few dances at the races, then I suggest we pop back home for a nightcap. All nice and genteel enough so far, proper Ascot, no funny business. Shelby and my lass come along too, fair play I suppose he wants to make sure the deal gets seen through to the end. My girl heads up to bed soon as we get in, and I break out the whisky and pour some for Shelby and his barmaid. Oh she’s happy enough then, isn’t she? Laughing at all my stories and batting those eyes at me. She’s a looker sure enough, all that hair tumbling down around her, eyes a man could get lost in. I wouldn’t be surprised if Shelby paid a pretty penny for this one and I’m hoping I can get my money’s worth tonight.

And then suddenly, just as I’m about to make a move, the daft bitch bolts out the room. Women, eh? My old man used to say you can’t live with ‘em can’t live without ‘em. I’m a bit shirty at the time, well wouldn’t you be? All ready and roaring to go and she fucks off out the room in a snit.

“You promised me a tumble with the pretty barmaid, now you’re going back on the deal?” I snap at him, and honestly I’ve had it up to about here with the slippery little bastard, “Is this the sort of business you do, Mister Shelby?”

He’s all wide eyes and waving hands and I’m about ready to give him a slap. Never trust a gypsy my old man said, should’ve listened to him a bit more. I grab the front of Shelby’s jacket and give him a shake, “If you make a promise, I expect you to keep to it. You get me that fucking girl right now or any deal we have is finished, understood?”

Bloody daft thing he’s all terrified and stuttering. See that’s why I prefer doing business with him, you think I could intimidate either of his brothers like this? But Tommy, ha, he’s all soft this one. Oh he’s clever enough for a bit of business, I’ll give him that, but you can tell, you really can, where he comes from. Putting a lick of paint on old nags and flogging them as racehorses, that’s more his style.

“I can’t get her back.” He stutters, and I push him up back against the pool table, ready to rough him about a bit. “But if you want this deal, we could work something out.”

Work out what, that’s what I want to bloody well know. Those eyes are still looking up at me, wider than hers in a face like an abandoned orphan girl. He weighs bloody nothing as well.

“If a _fuck_ is all you want…” he continues, his mouth twisting up. I can’t work out whether he’s laughing at me or sneering at me, but I don’t like it either way. Then it finally clicks into place what he’s offering and I like that even less. I don’t like the way the little fucker says it, that sneering voice like he thinks I’m some mincing nancy all but ready to jump into a blokes trousers.

I give him a shove and he staggers, knocking into the table and sending the decanter flying. It smashes into the floor and my whisky makes a pretty little stain on the carpet so I grab him again and yank him forward. It is quite enjoyable, I have to say, how easy it is to pull the little bastard around. The way he offers it up makes me wonder just how often he’s done this before. I mean you know what they say about gypsies, they’ll fuck anything. Maybe this is how the Shelby’s do things, eh? Maybe brother Arthur keeps this one on a tight little leash, sends him out to bat his eyelids round the back of the factory gates every time the Blinders run short of money. That’s a thought to tighten the trousers, and mine are feeling pretty damn tight right now.

Well why shouldn’t I? He did promise me a fuck and honestly if I don’t get one soon I’ll be feeling it.

I swing him over the pool table. His hands are already fumbling at his trousers, tugging them down all ready for me. I’m more of a tits man to be honest, but I’ll take a nice arse any day and he’s got a lovely one. Give it a bit of a slap, it shows up nice on his skin that does, then kick his legs apart to get him all set up the way I want.

Pretty little picture he makes spread out like that. He arches his back nicely, gets that arse at just the right level. Oh he’s a little gypsy whore alright, probably learned it from his mother.

“You wanted a fuck didn’t you?” He whimpers, head down, hair drooping over those gorgeous eyes. “Fucking take it then.”

I will take it, thank you kindly Mister Shelby. I will _wreck_ you.

I’ve done it like this once before with a bird, in at the old back entrance. It was some prostitute, and now I think about it I was drunk on whisky then as well. I think it’s easier with a lass though, they must just be naturally a bit wetter and looser down there, or maybe it was that she was a whore, well whatever it was he’s bloody fucking tight this one. I’ve got tears in my eyes by the time I’m in fully, and so has he by the looks of things. It feels a bit overwhelming and I can sort of get what the nancy’s see in it. I pat at the side of his arse, listen to him sniffle a bit, then see if I can actually get to fucking him.

Takes a bit of time. I’m drunk, he’s all skinny and awkward, and it's becoming clear that neither of us are experts at this. But after a while it starts to go a bit smoother, start getting a bit of a rhythm in. His body is still taut as a wire but that’s no bad thing, keeps it good and tight where it counts. It feels good, not just because of how sweet a fuck he is, but because this is Tommy Shelby; golden boy of the Shelby clan, arse up over _my_ pool table getting a nice firm fuck. This is when you know you’ve made it, isn’t it? When you’re screwing the competition, ha, literally screwing him into a sobbing little mess. I grab his hair and yank it back a bit trying to get him to cry out again, but he’s all biting his lip and staying silent now.

Fair play he’s got some pride. Besides I’m hardly expecting him to _enjoy_ it, am I? That would be asking a bit much. Would feel bloody weird as well.

I let his head go and concentrate on fucking him, closing my eyes for the last bit so I can pretend it's some gorgeous hot bird underneath me instead of an awkward lanky little gypsy runt. There’s a bit of a mess on my cock when it comes out, so I wipe it on the back of his shirt and tuck myself in, straightening out my shirt and tie.

I wish I could paint a picture right here and now of how he looks. I said I’d wreck him.

He staggers a bit, like a newborn colt trying to stand, and manages to push himself upright. He gets his trousers up all wincing and sniffling and now I’m coming down from the horny desperateness I’m starting to feel like a bit of a nonce. I’ve had a fuck of the Shelby rent boy over a pool table, and that thought makes me shudder.

“Go on, piss off.”

He looks up at me, eyes all watery still, “Do we still have our deal, Mister Kimber?”

I’ve almost forgotten what deal he’s talking about, I just want the little bitch out of my house now before I start feeling sick. “Alright you can have your damn racecourses. Now fuck off.”

It’s not until he limps out and I go to pour myself a much needed top-up that I remember he smashed my damn decanter.

I’ll be taking that out of his hide as well.


	3. Tommy Shelby

Tommy isn’t quite sure why he insists on heading back with Grace and Kimber. Maybe because the plan is too important to trust to chance, and he still isn’t willing to commit to whether he wants Kimber to use Grace or not. Some foolish optimistic part of his brain is hoping Kimber will be happy with a dance, a few drinks, and a goodnight kiss. A part of him that is both optimistic and delusional is insisting that this innocent outcome is what he’s wanted from the start.

It might have even worked, before the whisky came out. Tommy watches the decanter slowly empty as Kimber’s hands start to wander and the evening grows later. Then Kimber’s hand goes up Grace’s skirt and he knows it’s too late.

Fuck. Far too late.

Grace won’t do it. That was never really up for debate, but Tommy suddenly realises with a reluctant dawning dread that he won’t be able to see it through either. He won’t force her, won’t lock her in and turn the key until Kimber’s deal is made. He tries to keep her in the room, but it’s half-hearted and doomed to failure the minute Kimber turns to him and snaps. “You promised me a fuck, Tommy Shelby.”

Then Grace is gone, and Tommy is alone in the room with a drunk Billy Kimber who was promised a fuck.

“I’ll find you another woman.” He tries, already knowing it won’t work. Kimber doesn’t want a woman in the future, he wants a woman now while he’s horny and drunk and eager. Tommy needs to find a way to salvage this before Kimber’s anger turns into deal-breaking rage. “We can do this another day, you had a good dance, alright? I’ll talk to her, I’ll get to come back…”

“You promised me a tumble with the pretty barmaid.” Kimber yells in his face, and Tommy raises his hands desperately, trying to calm the situation. “Now you’re going back on the deal? Is this the sort of business you do, Mister Shelby?”

Tommy gently tries to explain, to promise, to calm Kimber down. But a man as riled up as Kimber isn’t about to calm down. His face is red, and Tommy can see a bulge pressing out between his legs that even the whisky isn’t going to bring down. He has a sudden horribly clear vision of several ways this evening could go, none of them ending well.

Time to earn a deal then. “I can’t get her back.” Tommy says gently, trying to sound as soothing as he can, letting Kimber back him up into the pool table. He can feel his heart hammering, the thud of it loud in his chest. Kimber’s fists are heavy and large against his chest and Tommy finds himself wishing he could just take a thump and walk away. That won’t get him the deal though. He suddenly feels a lot more sympathy for Lizzie Stark. “If you want this deal, we could … we could work something out?”

He’s unsure how best to pitch it. Flirty and seductive gets him shoved back into the table sending the whisky decanter tumbling to the floor. Weak is the way to go then, weak and helpless letting Kimber drag him around and finally over to the pool table. It hits him in the stomach as he’s all but thrown over it with a grunt of pain. Immediately, he starts tugging at his trousers because the last thing Tommy wants is Billy Kimber’s hands anywhere near his cock.

A hand lands across his arse and Tommy flushes, heart hammering. This is going to be very different from a dark mutual fumble in a muddy trench, or a shameful extra coin slipped to a whore for something men aren’t meant to want. This is going to be something new entirely, and he tries to stop himself from panicking as Kimber kicks his legs apart. His body feels awkward and uncertain, he has no idea where to put his legs or what to do or say, but thankfully Kimber’s doing most of the talking.

“Well don’t you make a pretty picture, eh Tommy? Just like your mother, nothing but a gypsy whore.”

Tommy feels the tears prick up in his eyes and clenches his teeth together hard. He can do this. He can bend to pick up a coin, and bend to take a cock, and it’ll all be worth it when he has Kimber’s business in the palm of his hand.

“You wanted a fuck didn’t you?” The words slide out of him like an oiled knife, a deadly promise of future pain. “Fucking _take it_ then.”

Kimber’s hands come down to rest almost gently on either side of him, one hand spreading out to grab and open up between his arse. He hears Kimber murmur, “Alright then…”

The first thrust doesn’t work. Tommy’s too tight and Kimber’s too drunk and both of them are too unprepared for what they’re doing. Tommy lets himself relax a little as Kimber fumbles and swears behind him, but then suddenly with a short sharp movement that takes Tommy’s breath away he’s _in_ and there’s a tearing aching burn which makes his insides stretch and writhe.

Tears spring into his eyes unbidden and he almost bites through his lip, giving a short choking cry as the man behind him ploughs mercilessly forward. He’s taken worse pain in his life but Tommy can’t remember ever feeling this vulnerable while doing so, half naked and held down, with no means of escape. His feet kick up against the pool table, and he certainly can’t ignore the ironic justice that he’s now suffering the same fate that he would’ve left Grace too.

Grace, thank god she’s left the room. He can’t imagine the shame of her watching. Fuck but it hurts, he just wants it to be over. Tommy’s hands scrabble against the baize of the pool table, listening to Kimber’s gasps, feeling aching heat between his legs. It occurs to him that Kimber will most likely finish to completion in his arse, and that sends the tears up into his eyes again and suddenly it’s all too much, far too much. Tommy lets his brain shut down, willing himself to imagine his room at Small Heath, or even a waterlogged trench, a half-collapsing tunnel, anywhere but here.

With a grunt and a cry Kimber cums, and Tommy gives a whine of pain as Kimber pulls away, feeling sticky liquid sliding down his leg. He tries to pretend it’s blood, and when he looks down he sees a pinkish stain that suggests it might be. His legs feel unstable and wobbly, with a stabbing pulsing pain between them that doesn’t die down as he pulls himself upright and tugs his trousers up.

That hurts as well. Everything does now. Kimber barks at him to piss off and Tommy tries not to meet his eyes, unwilling to see the contempt he knows must be in them. He can’t let it go though, so he stares at Kimber’s left ear and says in a voice as steady as he can make it, “Do we still have our deal Mister Kimber?”

Kimber gives a snort that Tommy assumes is a laugh, “Alright you can have your damn racecourses. Now fuck off.”

Tommy doesn’t need telling twice. The deal was what he came for, and it took a lot more than he thought to get it but now it’s _done,_ it’s done and soon he’ll be pushing Billy Kimber out of every business he owns. He staggers out of the room, relieved to find it empty on the other side, and gives himself a moment to straighten his clothes. Grace. She can’t know. She can never know. Nobody can.

Tommy manages to get his legs under control by the time he reaches the car, and even manages not to wince too obviously as he slides into the front seat. He’s braced against a tirade of justified anger, but instead Grace is silent. Tommy feels a wave of a relief that she’s chosen this route to punishing him, he’ll let her blank him for a while and then come back to the bar all apologies and excuses and maybe a bunch of flowers as well. It’ll pass. He’ll sort it. Just not now. Now he has to go home and fall over and try to forget the last hour ever happened.

“Just drive.” Grace whispers.

Tommy pulls the car out without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season One Tommy is a precious soft little murder kitten. This got a bit darker than it maybe needed to go, but I had a shite day so sorry Tommy!


End file.
